


nix the night, lay waste the morning

by East_Renee



Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bogus Science, Gyokuen is a real bitch, Human Experimentation, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-10-26 23:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10796685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/East_Renee/pseuds/East_Renee
Summary: "In 861 A.C. an Alma Torran scientist, Uraltugo Noi Nueph, made a startling discovery - that there were certain abnormal particles whose movements did not follow those of other particles. Instead they rolled about continuously in circles. Confused, he decided to call them 'Rukh' for the time being, after the birds that he saw circling outside his window." - excerpt from Fundamentals of Physics; 7th Edition(or an AU where there are deadly power struggles over possible nuclear warfare and Sinbad is dropped in the middle of it all)





	1. The Boy Crying Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic only knowing that I wanted a SinJu AU where Magi powers were connected to science or something and somehow it became this monstrosity. I'm not a physicist, and so all of the "science" in this fic is pure BS. The rating may change in the future; I'm not 100% sure, but please be aware that there will be scenes on human experimentation, abuse, and living with trauma - not in this chapter but definitely in future ones. Thank you for reading and I welcome any suggestions/comments you might have! 
> 
> Warning: human experimentation, abuse, trauma, suicide ideation, drug mention

 

 _"In 861 A.C. an Alma Torran scientist, Uraltugo Noi Nueph, made a startling discovery that there were certain abnormal particles whose movements did not follow those of other particles. Instead they rolled about continuously in circles. Confused, he decided to call them 'Rukh' for the time being, after the birds that he saw circling outside his window."_ —excerpt from **Fundamentals of Physics; 7th Edition**

*

Yunan dropped by, time to time, wanderer that he was. And when he did, Sinbad knew that his office was the safest it would ever be, no bugs, no cameras, no nothing—because Yunan didn't want to be found. Made sense, given his circumstances.

There wasn't really a pattern to Yunan's visits, but the one thing that stayed consistent over the past ten years was his request for tea. As predictable as the sun rising in the east, he'd ask, "Do you still have some of that tea from Artemyra?" and Sinbad would say yes and ask the maid to get some, and then they'd sit down and chat nonsensically for hours.

But today, Yunan didn't ask for tea. Instead, he asked, "Have you ever thought of going back to Alma Torran?"

There were two train tickets on the table. They lay there almost innocently, taunting him.

Sinbad realized he'd yet to answer. His throat was dry. The setting sun outside bled bruises into the room and Sinbad vaguely thought that they suited the atmosphere rather well; it resembled a nightmare.

"What is this?" he said, his voice a hoarse croak.

Yunan sat still in his chair, his elfin features stony in the shadows. Sinbad didn't even know why he was so scared.

"There's something you have to do," said Yunan.

*

Ja'far wheezed into his handkerchief and his eyes looked accusingly at Sinbad. "Why," he said, deadpan as always, "is it so dusty here?"

Sinbad just shrugged. "It's always been like this," he said. Mines and quarries dotted the mountains all over and decades under the employment of coal corporations meant that the locals now looked up at the overhead smog with disinterest. Just a block ago, he'd seen flyers stuck to a pole. **Haku Energy** , it read in big, black letters, **miners needed**.

Slowly, Alma Torran crumbled like a biscuit.

They'd just gotten off the train and were standing on the street, trying to figure out where they should go from here. This part of Baal, the capital of Alma Torran, had never had its roads properly outfitted with cobblestones and so there were cracks of dirt here and there, rips on a patchwork quilt. Whenever the occasional motorbike zoomed past, it stuttered out dust clouds of an amazing size. One came by just then and sent Ja'far into a flurry of coughs again, despite the face coverings they wore over their nose and mouth. Sinbad clapped him on his back absentmindedly, his attention focused on their surroundings. The oily and spice-filled musk of street food wafted up from the food stalls all squeezed together as close as possible. Everything fought for space in this city; buildings were arranged haphazardly, their roofs colliding into each other, their mosaic walls clashing, paint peeling, and blocks of cement were broken down by the elements and—

"—gunshots."

"What?" Ja'far looked up in confusion, eyes still watering.

Sinbad pointed at the marks of gunfire. They were numerous; once you found one, you saw them everywhere. The cracked windows, pockmarked walls, even the smell of gunpowder had made its home here.

"Probably from all the bandit raids," Ja'far said, "but some of those look recent... we should get moving." He looked down at his phone, "I think I've figured out how to get to the hotel."

"Knew I could count on you."

"Isn't this your hometown?" Ja'far said, not accusingly, but with a hint of curiosity.

"My parents were farmers," Sinbad said, "We lived on the outskirts of Baal."

He didn't say anything else and Ja'far—bless his soul—didn't push.

The truth was that he knew these streets, but he doesn't _know_ them now. It's been thirteen years since he left Alma Torran and he's never been back since. There was nothing tethering him here and if he was to be bluntly honest about it... he'd never wanted to come back. This was his parents' burial ground; he didn't dare burden their resting places with his heavy soul.

He'd join them soon enough.

At Ja'far's instructions, they go left, right, left again, past a pavilion where kids gathered to skip class and drunkards lay on the streets, down through an alleyway where a couple of people were squatting, then straight, left, straight again...

"Sinbad," Ja'far said softly, "Your wig is slipping."

Patting the back of his head, Sinbad felt how the wig had shifted slightly to the left and corrected it with a firm push. He quickly looked at himself in a shop window. "Thanks," he said. He'd worn disguises before, but it still felt strange to see himself with short black hair. When he was a child, his mother had cooed over his long purple locks and brushed them gently into a neat ponytail. "You look just like your father," she'd told him once, "A strong Torranian."

Brown eyes stared back at him instead of yellow and underneath his face covering he wore a fake mustache and beard. Few knew that Sinbad was from this country. Fewer still knew that he and Ja'far were here now; only a few of his most trusted executives were privy to the information. The excuse that he'd given everyone else for their absence was that they were secretly casing out a corporation as a possible trade partner. They'd done it before often enough—Sinbad liked to get his hands dirty and everyone knew there was no point in trying to stop him. If anyone found out where they actually were, more than a few eyebrows would rise. Sindria had a market value of over 150 billion and it was only increasing. Why would they be interested doing trade in Alma Torran, the "Sick Man of the East"?

 _We're not here for trade, we're here for politics_ , Sinbad imagined telling them and had to stifle a snort. Even that wasn't the whole truth.

He looked up from his musings and realized suddenly that Ja'far was no longer in front of him. In fact, he had no idea where he was—it was dark, and everything seemed strangely vague and indistinct. With every step he felt increasingly adrift, the buildings all blurring together into a scrambling mess of archways, towers, and turrets. His heart thundered in his chest. He could barely breathe. He could barely walk. All he could see was the red of the sun, flaring above.

"I didn't ask you to come," a voice said. Sinbad blinked. A figure was floating in front of the sun. A boy. His eyes were the same color as the sun and his hair was black—an absolute sort of black that seemed to be derived from the darkness around them.

"I didn't ask you to come," he repeated. As Sinbad watched, a drop of blood slid from the corner of his eye and down his cheek.

"I know," Sinbad heard himself say, "But—"

The last thing he saw was the ground rushing up to meet his face.

*

"What?" Sinbad asked, "What are you talking about, Yunan?"

The sounds of traffic outside only made Yunan's silence heavier. He wasn't even looking at Sinbad, his gaze directed at some indistinct space beside him instead. Finally, he said:

"There's been some strange going-ons in Alma Torran over the past few years. I know you've heard of them and I'm worried. The sources I have can only tell me that the Kou Government is running some sort of project over there. No one really knows what it’s about, but it’s possible that it’s connected to warfare." His eyes slid over to meet Sinbad's, but they revealed nothing but solemnity. "There's a rebel faction there that knows more. I've arranged for you to meet them. Find out what they know and perhaps, if you find that you share the same goals, you can join forces. They need someone with your influence and power."

Running a hand through his hair, Sinbad gave out a sigh, "Yunan I'm not a spy anymore. Thank you for this information, but I can send out my own people. I don't understand why... why me? I haven't even been back to Alma Torran in thirteen years. Why is this so urgent?"

Yunan was back to staring at some point in the air. "I've kept this off for too long already," he murmured. "In the rebel faction, there's a boy. I especially want you to meet him. For that reason, it has to be you."

"What boy?" Sinbad asked, but something in him told him what Yunan was going to say even before he opened his mouth.

"You know him," Yunan said. His stony countenance broke ever so slightly. Now, he merely looked sad. "You've seen him in your dreams."

*

He was slapped awake.

He blinked blearily into the lights and was unable to make out where he was. A middle-aged woman was leaning over him and her face looked down at him, unimpressed.

"Well it's about time," she said.

He was lying on a pile of cushions in the middle of a rather large room with high ceilings. An old chandelier flickered above, and the walls were accented with gold paint, which had dulled with age. The ghost of a ballroom breathed in this space; he could sense the hundreds of footprints that had marked this ground, the music that had filled the air with revelry.

"Where's Ja'far?" he asked.

"If you mean the sweet man who was with you, he's dropping off your bags in your room," came the answer. The woman was digging behind a counter and got up with a rag and a pan full of water.

"Oh, that's not necessary—" he said, but the rest of his words were promptly smothered under a cold, damp rag as his face was scrubbed mercilessly.

"I would say that it's necessary, a healthy, strong man like you fainting at the door," the woman huffed. "You're lucky you didn't faint earlier or else your friend would've had to drag you. Let me guess, you're from North Kou? Sometimes we get guests from there and they can't stand the heat. Wilt in it. Whine like babies. Imuchakk people are even worse. They do the same but they're three meters tall so when they collapse they take up even more space." She pursed her lips, "Three-meter-tall babies the lot of them. "

Sinbad thought of his friend and colleague, Hinahoho, an Imuchakk native, and struggled to smother the laugh that was threatening to come out. "N-no," he tried to say, but she was relentless.

"Then it's the air pollution. You don't look like the sort to suffer from asthma, but if you do I hope you brought your inhaler. We had a group of people from Reim come in last week, one got rashes and another had terrible breathing problems. It's good business for the hospitals, I'll tell you that." She looked at him, eyes narrowing in thought. "Your friend was coughing too when he came in. He'd better get that looked at."

Now that his face was free from the rag, he spoke, trying to muster all the charm he had, "I'll encourage him to do so, Madame. Thank you very much for your kind help. If I could have your name...?"

A snort and then, "You can just call me Ms. Roshni. I'm in charge of this place and I better see no hanky-panky or you'll be out on the streets faster than you can say 'Holy Solomon'."

"Of course," he assured, and then heard chuckling from the doorway.

"Harsh as always, Ms. Roshni," chortled a man with tufts of graying hair curling out from under his red fez. Piercing eyes looked at Sinbad and he smiled at the mirth he saw there.

"If this is harsh then I don't know how you've lived this long," Ms. Roshni said, tone full of disdain, and promptly turned and walked back to man the desk.

The man chuckled again, "You just got here?" he said, directing his question to Sinbad.

Sinbad nodded, "Yes."

"What you here for?"

Quickly running through the cover story he and Ja'far had constructed on their way here, Sinbad said, "We're here on business. We're representing a party who’s interested in developing the area around Lake Bashur."

The man raised an eyebrow, "Is that so... I thought that land was Kou Government property."

"Most of it is, but we're hoping to enter into negotiations with them."

"Good luck with that," the man tossed out another chuckle and slapped his knee, "Those Kou bastards are a stubborn bunch! You won't find another people more pigheaded." Then he added in a darker tone, "That's how they took over most of Old Torran, after all."

Sinbad said nothing.

The man blinked, "Damn, you're not from Kou are you?" A trace of worry entered his eyes, "I let my mouth get away with me—"

"—No, no," Sinbad interjected quickly, "We're from Parthevia."

A pause. "Parthevia," the man said with wide eyes. There was a note of surprise in his voice. He seemed to be struck dumb and then shook himself. "It's been a while since I've met a Parthevian. How are things over there? Rebuilding efforts and all."

"They're going alright," Sinbad said, "We're—," he struggled to find the right word, "—healing."

"That's good to hear. Wow, you lot have even more reason to hate Kou than we do." The man nodded admiringly, "And you're going to enter into negotiations with _them_?"

Sinbad cleared his throat, "We need to bolster our trade. Rebuild our economy. And Kou's an economic superpower, can't ignore them." He shrugged, "Time goes on."

"True," the man sighed, "Well I wish you good luck. What'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's—"

"—Bahram!" called someone from behind. Sinbad turned to see Ja'far coming down the steps. "Are you alright Bahram?' he said again.

Sinbad nodded, recognizing the code name the two of them had agree upon, and then inwardly groaned, remembering how he'd mentioned Ja'far's name to Ms. Roshni earlier in his daze. Well, he'd just have to play that off somehow.

"I'm fine, Shahbaz," he said as Ja'far came closer, " It was probably the dust. I'm sorry for worrying you."

Ja'far nodded but his face was still concerned. Then he tilted his head to their new companion. "Who's this?" he asked.

Sinbad gestured to the man and was going to introduced him when he realized that he still hadn't given his name.

The man smiled. "I'm Darius," he said, "Good to meet you both. I have to head off now, work shift starts soon, but I come around here often to keep Ms. Roshni company—" they heard a loud sniff from behind the counter and he grinned, "— so hopefully I'll bump into you two again."

He got up to leave, but Sinbad quickly stopped him, "Before you go Darius, do you know where we can find the bar Toto's?"

Darius gave them a lopsided smile, "I can do you one better. I can bring you there."

*

"How do you know about that?" Sinbad asked. His heart was thundering. He'd never told anyone about his dreams before.

"There's a lot that I know about," said Yunan, "If I had more time, I'd give you an explanation, but for now you'll just have to accept that I know. I know you're curious about that boy, just like I know you want to find out why Parthevia was attacked, and why, after the attack, you were found unconscious at the border. I know that all the answers to your questions lie in Alma Torran. So go, Sinbad. Don't run from this. Go back to your hometown."

Sinbad could only stare back in disbelief. Only the honking of the cars outside brought him out of his stupor and when it did, he saw that Yunan was gone. The tickets on the table were the only evidence of him having been there. As he picked them up, he saw a piece of card underneath.

In a neat script, it read:

_I didn't see the birds today/ They've gone to kill the snake that lies underfoot_

Then further down:

_Toto's. 8pm._

*

Toto's was a simple establishment, bar on one side, counters and tables on the other. It was clearly popular with the miners, who'd come here tired from work and ready to relax for a bit. The dark wooden interior and dim lights created a somber atmosphere that was only lit up by the television hanging in the corner. An MMA match was showing; Sinbad watched as a short woman maneuvered out of her larger opponent's grasp before flipping him to the ground. He and Ja'far sat themselves down in a counter in the corner.

A waitress came by, "What can I get for you two?" she asked.

"What do you have on tap?"

"Falani, Shien, Rurushina, Baimal," she listed off automatically, counting off on her fingers.

"I'll have a Falani," Sinbad said.

Ja'far made a face, "I'll just have a water."

The waitress looked at him. So did Sinbad. Ja'far sighed but didn't budge. Later, when the waitress left, Sinbad bumped his shoulder and said, "You know in places like this, alcohol is cleaner than water, right?"

Ja'far just looked at him sourly, "Someone has to be sober for this."

"Whatever this is," Sinbad said lightly, but that only seemed to annoy him further.

"That's the point," he whispered, "We don't even know who exactly we're meeting." Sinbad could only shrug; they knew what they were going into when they agreed to come.

 _Not Ja'far_ , a part of him whispered, _he doesn't know that you're partially here to see a boy from your dreams._

 _Shut up_ , he answered.

Sinbad tried to distract his nerves by watching the television. Someone had changed the channel to the news, he was surprised that no one was complaining. A picture of a man with long blonde hair and a long, angular face, showed up on the screen. Below it the headlines ran—

_**Breaking News: Energy Commissioner Ithnan of Kou found dead in his residence** _

The face seemed oddly familiar to Sinbad.

Then Ja'far tugged on his sleeve. He looked to the door.

A figure cloaked in Torranian robes was heading to their table. Her face was half-covered, as were theirs, but Sinbad could see that she was a young woman with startling pink eyes.

"I didn't see the birds today," she said softly.

"They've gone to kill the snake that lies underfoot," Sinbad said smoothly. Satisfied with his reply, she sat down. "Who are you?" he asked.

"That is of no importance," she said, "You told our mutual friend that you were willing to help us."

"I said no such thing, I merely told him that I was willing to hear you out and then decide if I wanted to help you."

She narrowed her eyes, "Very well. Without mentioning any names, I represent a rebel faction who wishes to put a stop to the corruption within the Torranian Government and throw off Kou Rule. Namely, by disposing of the current Premier."

That could only refer to one person. His fist clenched as he tried to control the frisson of excitement running through his body.

 _Ren Gyokuen_. They wanted his help assassinating _Ren Gyokuen_?

Oh, this was going to be good.

The girl sensed his change in mood and quickly dissented, "That's not where we require your assistance. What we need your help in is investigating something else. We believe that there are certain mineral reserves in Alma Torran that the Kou Empire is keeping quiet about and exploiting to use for nuclear warfare. You with your connections and influence, can reach places that we cannot."

"These reserves..." Ja'far said, eyebrows knit together, "do you suspect that they were what was used to create the nukes set off for the Parthevia attack?"

"Yes," said the girl, primly, "and they are undoubtedly preparing for a similar one."

Sinbad and Ja'far exchanged a glance. Finally, after a decade, they were getting close to the truth of the matter.

"Very well," Sinbad said, nodding, "What you've said has piqued our interest. We'll look into it. Is there any other information you can give us?"

"Yes," the girl took out a file from her sleeve, "read this—" her eyes narrowed as she stopped herself. She turned.

A shadow stretched along their table and Sinbad followed the direction of the girl's eyes.

For a second, he's _sure_ his heart stopped.

Standing in front of their table was a boy—no, a young man, with eyes the color of a red sun and hair the black of darkness. As Sinbad watched, his eyes narrowed in annoyance and his pert lips opened to say:

"I didn't ask you to come."


	2. The Boy who Pronounced him King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sinbad finds out a little more about the boy in his dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Peeks out from the corner) ehehehe umm... clearly I am just as bad at staying on time with updates as always. I'm very sorry for the lateness of this chapter. Originally this chapter was double the length it is now, but I felt like it was dragging on too much, so I restructured it and moved a lot of stuff to later chapters. Hopefully that means Ch 3 won't take as much time (fingers crossed). 
> 
> Also, thank you so much for the kudos and comments! They have bolstered me and kept me going whenever I felt down - honestly I didn't expect this to get any reception, so I'm honored. Hope you'll enjoy this chapter as well!

_"There are reports of a strange child in West Artemyra, who can control the weather and make farm ground more fertile. The 6th Regiment will be sent tomorrow to determine the veracity of these reports. They have been instructed to take the child in if reports are found accurate, as such a child will be a most valuable asset for the Kingdom._ "—Excerpt from reports written by Lt. Miranda Lyseria, of the Artemyrian Royal Army, sent to Queen Mira Dianus Artemina, dated the year 843 A.C. 

 

**

“I didn’t ask you to come.” 

There was a stuffy, compressed kind of feeling in Sinbad’s chest and he realized that he’d stopped breathing. It was a faint realization though, unimportant compared to the fact that he was literally sitting in front of the boy of his dreams. 

He was older. In his dreams, he’d looked around eight, petite and chubby, but the boy in front of him had to be at least seventeen. If Sinbad stood up, his nose would probably be level with the tip of the boy’s head and, even with those billowy Torranian robes, one could see that he sported a lithe frame, packed with muscle. Absent was the baby fat that used to saddle his cheeks, revealing a heart-shaped face, with a clearly defined jawline and delicate, pert features. 

For a second, Sinbad doubted himself. After all, he’d been expecting to find a kid, a child barely grown, and instead he was faced with a man—a very beautiful one, to boot. 

Yet there was no mistaking that it was him. His large, vivid red eyes (those remained unchanged at least) glinted in the orange light given off by the dinky bulb above them. Despite their passionate color, they were strangely cold. 

“You weren’t going to make it,” the girl said. Sinbad realized that the statement had been directed at her, not him. 

He started breathing again.

“I was just being held up for a bit, no need to nag old hag,” the boy snarled and Sinbad was taken aback at the bite in his voice, so acrid coming from his pretty lips. 

The girl narrowed her eyes, “Oh don’t you start—" 

The boy interrupted her with a “tsk” and motioned her to move aside. He plopped himself down next to her and gestured lazily to the two of them, Sinbad and Ja’far, the latter who was looking increasingly cross as the night went on. 

“So you’re the ones Yunan sent?” He seemed unimpressed, head cocked to the side, posture slouched, “About time that old fogey started moving.” 

Sinbad knew he should say something, but he found himself at a loss for words. All he could do was stare at the boy, who in turn glanced back with eyes that communicated only disinterest. He tried to stop, tried to turn his head and look at something else—he was being rather obvious after all and was probably embarrassing himself, but it was just so strange having him in front of him like this. He wanted to reach out across the table to touch the boy’s hand—his face—his hair— _anything_ to confirm that he was real and solid and _not a dream_. 

But he stilled his hand, grasping at the edge of the table instead until his knuckles turned white, and took in a long, deep breath. It was one of the greatest exercises of self-restraint he’d ever had to make. 

Fortunately, the waitress came by just then with their drinks in her hands. 

“That’s one Falani and one water,” she said, settling the glasses down with a ‘clunk’. She then looked to the other side of the table and asked, “Do you two want anything?” 

“No thank you,” the girl declined. The boy merely wrinkled his nose in distaste. 

“You got any peaches?” he asked. 

Eyebrows raised, the waitress said slowly, “This is a bar.” 

“Doesn’t mean you don’t have peaches,” the boy pointed out. 

“We… we have cherries that are used for garnishes, but no peaches.” 

“Lame,” the boy drawled and then dodged to the side as the girl swat at his head. 

“Behave!” she hissed. 

Sinbad laughed—he couldn’t help it, the exchange was just so _bizarre_ and not what he’d expected to see tonight at all and this, combined with the shock at seeing the boy, caused him to laugh heartily. Upon hearing the sound, the two of them stopped and looked at him; the girl retreated abruptly to her corner, smoothing her veils in an attempt to maintain a semblance of calm and maturity, while the boy’s brow furrowed and a strange expression came onto his face—had it been anyone else, Sinbad would’ve said that it was surprise, but when it came to this boy, he was unsure. Either way, it appeared for but a moment, and then was quickly hidden behind a wall of opaque stoniness. 

Ja’far took over as he was wont to doing; with the air of a tired old man, he waved the waitress away and then, as soon as she was gone, put out his hand. 

“The file please,” he said. 

The girl blinked and then caught herself, hastily reaching into her sleeve again and handing the file over to Ja’far. Her face coverings concealed her cheeks, but Sinbad was sure she was blushing. 

“Right,” she said, “Of course well—as I was saying before, inside that file are several pieces of information that we have uncovered regarding the reserves. Please peruse it in the privacy of your room and then destroy it afterwards. Me or my—partner,” she motioned to the boy, “will meet with you soon to talk about your next steps. The folder holds the details.” 

Ja’far nodded and then there was a slight pause; Sinbad could feel Ja'far looking at him. At this point the two of them would usually leave; they’d gotten what they needed after all and staying outside for too long wasn’t wise. Sinbad heard Ja’far clear his throat and knew that was his signal to get up and go. 

But they couldn’t leave. Not yet. Not now. Not so soon. Not without—

Sinbad threw a quick glance in the boy’s direction and was surprised to see him looking back again. This time however, his eyes were narrowed slightly, as if appraising him. The air around him had changed, from lazy languor to restless gravity; it was a crackling kind of heavy energy, like a thunderstorm that had only just retreated for now but was sure to return as soon as your guard was down. His whole being seemed to seethe with anticipation, waiting to pounce, and it made Sinbad’s breath catch. 

He had to find more about him. Who knew when he’d get another chance? 

Besides, he reasoned, Yunan had wanted him to meet the boy. Which meant that there had to be something else going on behind the scenes that was connected to everything else—the boy, Alma Torran, and the rest of it. 

So he ignored Ja’far’s furtive looks, settled himself more firmly into his seat, and asked: 

“What should we call you by? I know you said names aren't important,” he added, seeing the girl’s frown, “but that was before we agreed to work together. What if we need to contact you?” 

He could just _feel_ Ja’far sighing. 

“I suppose that’s a fair point,” the girl acceded reluctantly, “Alright. You may call me Tir and my partner, Aban.” 

Sinbad blinked, “After the months?” 

Ja’far let out a snort. 

The girl bristled, “Is there something wrong with that?” she demanded. 

“No of course not!” Sinbad said hastily, “It’s creative! A creativeness that we lack unfortunately—my name is Bahram and my companion is Shahbaz.” 

Tir nodded stiffly, mollified, and Sinbad thought that that was the end of that, but then the boy, Aban (didn’t quite suit him, that name), drew his attention with a chuckle. 

“Bahram?” he said, in a delighted sort of way and he dragged out the syllables on his tongue in mockery, “What a dumbass name to choose as your alias. I thought you had better taste than that, Sinbad.”

Almost immediately, Sinbad saw Ja’far make a grab for his knife, hidden under his robes, and he quickly placed a hand on his arm to stop him. His heart was pounding, but it wasn’t due to panic—no, the closest word that could describe the fire coursing through his veins was probably "excitement"; there was something about hearing his real name drop from the boy’s mouth that struck him to the bone. 

As absurd as it sounded, it was almost like coming home. 

“Ju—Aban!” Tir exclaimed in alarm, eyes wide. 

“No one can hear us,” Aban said dismissively, mischief clear on his face. It was true enough; the bar was more packed now and the four of them had to crowd closer to hear each other above the din. “And no one will, unless Freckles doesn’t calm down and starts flinging knives at us. Not that they’ll even hit,” he added. 

Ja’far scowled and tightened his grip on his blade. Sinbad, sensing an upcoming disaster, opted for levity. Throwing out his trademark crooked grin, he joked, “Well I’m impressed Aban. Tell me, what gave it away? Is my disguise that bad?” 

Something flashed in Aban’s eyes—intrigue? —and then he smiled back, innocent-like but sharp as a knife, “Yeah, you’re too showy. You may have tried to change your looks but your stance, your voice, it’s the same as on TV. But it’s fine—Tir was sure that we were just going to get some of your lackeys. It’s nice of Yunan to send us the Trade King himself. Makes things a bit more interesting.” 

Showing both hands, palm up, Sinbad shrugged and smiled, “Glad I can provide you with some entertainment.” 

“Oh,” Aban said and he chuckled, something deep and low in his throat that made Sinbad’s mouth go dry. He tilted his head to the side, and the play of light and shadow on his irises reminded Sinbad of wine swirling in a glass. “You can provide me with some more if you can tell me why you’re here.” His smile widened and Sinbad could see the points of his canines. 

He cleared his throat, “Beg your pardon?” 

The boy laughed—a short manic sound, more like a rushed exhale than anything else. “Well you can’t expect us to believe that you’re here purely out of concern for Alma Torran, can you?” he remarked, “Despite the ‘benevolent king’ act that you give, I think we both know that you’re not that kind of person.” 

“Then what kind of person am I?” Sinbad asked, and he couldn’t help but lean in a bit closer. There was a strange kind of roaring in his head, had been one ever since he’d seen Aban, but now it crashed around in his skull, much like how waves crashed onto cliffs, and all he could see was the taunting figure perched in front of him: pretty face half covered in shadow, lips curled into a smirk, eyes full of a wild emotion. Something pricked at the base of his throat and he was convinced, more than ever, that the dreams weren’t just flukes—this boy knew things about him that no one else did, and wasn’t that just terrifying? 

Except Sinbad had never been one to be scared; indeed, he seemed to have been born with the innate knowledge that everything would turn out alright, as people often told him half-ruefully. And if it didn’t, he’d just singlehandedly twist reality and make it so. 

It was with that innate knowledge that he gazed earnestly at Aban and it seemed to have some effect on him—the boy's eyes widened slightly, and he seemed to hesitate in saying whatever he was about to say. 

But then when he did open his mouth to reply, he suddenly snapped it shut, and turned in his seat to face the entrance.

 "Fuck," he said quietly, "it's the Police." 

Tir scrambled up, glaring at him, "How—you didn't lead them here, did you?" 

"Of course not!" he snapped, "I can outrun those slow bastards with my eyes closed." 

"How do you know?" Sinbad asked. No one new had come into the bar, as far as he could see. 

"Take it from me," he said, "I just know. They're five minutes away." 

"Is there a back door?" Ja'far asked. 

Tir nodded, "Yes. Follow me." 

In the corner was a small corridor that led to the bathrooms, as well as to a storage closet and a backdoor out. They huddled along quietly, and Sinbad was surprised that no one tried to stop them or even looked at them suspiciously—either the bar was in on the rebel faction or people often hid from the law here. He'd have to ask about it later. 

Outside, the cool air and loud silence brought Sinbad a bit closer to reality. They were standing in the middle of a vacant lot that people seemed to use both for parking and abandoning stuff they didn't need anymore. The sun had long gone and only the random streetlight offered them light in the darkness. 

Sinbad realized, a bit mournfully, that he'd only taken two swigs of his Falani before he left. Shame really, he'd been looking forward to it. For some reason, the Torranian brand just didn't taste the same in Parthevia or Sindria. 

He also noted that he'd been correct—standing up, Aban came up to the bridge of his nose exactly. As Sinbad followed him, he could smell a floral scent from his long, black hair. It was remarkably long; tied up into an elaborate braid, it reached all the way to his calves. 

 _What would it be like untied,_ he wondered idly. 

All of a sudden, Aban turned around, his braid whipping behind him. His eyes were a dark violet in the night. "Go ahead, I'll deal with them," he said. 

"What?" Sinbad stared at him, bewildered. "How?" 

Aban scoffed, "Just go, I can handle it." 

Sinbad opened his mouth to protest, but Tir beat him to it, "There's no need for that," she said, "We can outrun them, we'll just take the shortcut. Do you know the way back to your hotel?" This last part was directed to Sinbad, who looked around at his surroundings, mind hurriedly replacing these new fixtures and street names with the ones he knew as a child. 

Then he nodded, "Yeah I do." 

"Don't take a direct route," Tir said, pink eyes glaring at them accusingly as if that was what they were going to do, "Go the long way. The police aren't looking for you, you can just pretend you're stopping by all the bars. We'll separate here." And, without any further parting words, she hurried down the street, disappearing into the darkness.

Aban just smirked at them, a twist of lips that didn't reach his eyes, and gave them a half-shrug. 

"Bye stupid king," he said and then added, smirk growing on his face, "Bye freckles." He even tacked on a jaunty wave that rang of cheeky adolescence, before finally turning on his heel and following after Tir. 

For a solid second, Sinbad and Ja'far looked out into the darkness where they used to be, and then Ja'far uttered a very long and a very defeated-sounding groan. 

 

**

 

A couple hours later, back in the hotel, Sinbad smiled weakly at the finger Ja'far jabbed in his face. 

"What was _that_ about?" his advisor asked, eyes narrowed at him in suspicion. 

"What was what about?" 

"That boy—Aban—whatever his name is— _him_ —what was with you staring at him like a loon?"

Sinbad winced, "That bad, huh?" 

""That bad" doesn't even cover it!" Ja'far ran a hand through his shockingly white hair, making it stand up messily, "At first, I thought it was just you flirting as usual, but then I realized—it's more than that. You know him from somewhere." 

It was a statement, not a question. 

Slowly ripping off his fake beard, Sinbad sighed, wondering how to explain it. 

"I know him... or know _of_ him," he said, "Yunan told me about him." 

"Why?" 

"I'm not sure. He just told me he wanted me to meet him." That was true enough, Sinbad thought. 

Ja'far was still staring. Sinbad tried to look calm. Innocent, even. 

It half worked. "You're not telling me the whole story," Ja'far said accusingly, but he turned away and started opening the file. 

"I'm telling you everything I'm sure about. The other stuff is still a bit...murky," Sinbad said, "But it won't jeopardize this trip." 

At that, Ja'far looked at him, one eyebrow perfectly cocked upward, "Oh I don't know about that," he said, "Keep staring at him the way you did tonight and I won't be able to protect you from stray bullets." 

Sinbad felt his cheeks flush slightly and Ja'far added, "But when you feel like telling me the truth, I'm here." 

 

**

 

Here's the truth: Sinbad's wary of telling anyone about his dreams. First, because well, they're _dreams,_ but second, because—looking back at it all makes him realize how big of an impact the dreams have had. On him. On his life. 

His first dream of the boy had been around ten years ago. A couple months after the Parthevia Disaster, most of which he'd spent bedridden, he'd dozed off only to see a boy standing next to his hospital bed. 

"What's a kid like you doing here?" he'd asked weakly. 

Face half hidden in the darkness, the boy said nothing. 

When he'd woken up, Sinbad felt awfully somber, as if there was a rock sitting where his heart was. He couldn't remember much of his dream, but he swore that someone had been crying; he just wasn't sure whether it was him or if it was the boy or someone else. 

He didn't have another dream until a month after the first, and by that time he was willing to pass it off as a random dream. 

Except he sees the same boy and this time he's floating above his chest. 

'It's you again," was all Sinbad could say. It was strange—he felt as if there was nothing he could say that was good enough for the boy, and so he said nothing. 

Perhaps the boy felt the same, because he didn't say anything either, and it seemed like this dream would turn out the same way as the previous had, until eventually, after what felt like a piece of eternity, he said imperiously, "Stop being a spy." 

Sinbad blinked blearily, wondering if he'd misheard, "What?" 

More silence. The boy merely stared, solemnly. 

He tried again, "Why?" 

Nothing. A clock chimed in the background. In his exhaustion, Sinbad started counting...

_one_

_two_

_three_

_four_

_five_

_six_

_seven_

A rustle of fabric and then:

"Because you're supposed to be greater than this," the kid said, and his gaze was a weight, bearing down heavily, as he pronounced his next words in the same way a judge announced a life sentence, "You're supposed to be  _king_." 

And just like that, Sinbad woke up, staring at the chipped ceiling of his rental apartment in Reim. 

Later that day, he contacted Muu Alexius and let him know that, while he was very flattered that the Reim Government wanted to employ his services, he would rather assist the rebuilding efforts ongoing in Parthevia. 

The Fanalis man was surprised but took it well enough (being the patriotic sort, he himself couldn't imagine anything better than serving Reim, but oh well each to his own), and gave Sinbad a sly look. "Anything specific you're thinking of doing?" he asked. 

"I'm not sure," Sinbad said, "Parthevians need to relocate somewhere permanently while there's still radiation. I'm thinking of looking into the nearby islands. And there's the problem of distributing supplies and rations—government organizations never do a good job with that, I'm thinking an independent trading company might be better, but—" he shrugged, "it's all up in the air for now." 

"So, what, you're taking over for the King?" Muu laughed at Sinbad's startled face, "I'm joking just—that sounds like a pretty big project. And a pretty big career change." 

Sinbad half-shrugged, "Someone's got to do it, what with the royal family... gone." 

Muu grimaced. He touched both his shoulders and then his lips lightly—the Reim gesture for praying to their God; in this case, a sign that said, _Rest in Peace_. Then he smiled, small but genuine, "Well good luck with that."  

The rest was, as they say, history. Two years later, Sinbad sees the title "Trade King" come across the screen of the world news channel for the first time, making him choke on his coffee, and Masrur, helpful friend that he is, hits him on the back so hard that he swears his ribs cry. 

"I-I'm alright Masrur," he wheezes, but his heart pounds loudly as he remembers that dream and that boy and those words he'd uttered. 

(In hindsight, it had all been almost too easy—or not easy exactly, but natural; as if yes, this had been what he was meant to do.) 

 

** 

 

The folder Tir had given them consisted of a handful of papers and, sticking out from in-between them, colorful dividers, small rectangles of plasticky-paper… or at least that’s what they appeared to be. Ja’far peeled them off and handed them to Sinbad, who stuck them onto the laptop they’d brought with them. 

CyberStrips, as these were known, were actually USBs, but in the form of adhesive strips. Instead of inserting them in, you only had to stick them onto a computer to transmit the data. They’d been invented in the past year and were still off the market, which implied that—

“They have a sponsor,” Sinbad said. He turned to Ja’far with a half-smile, “Three guesses as to who.” 

Ja’far tossed him an unimpressed look as he sifted through the papers. Most were bound to be rubbish designed to throw other people off, but there was no harm in making sure. “Ren Kouen,” he said simply. 

“Most likely." 

In the end, only one of the small rectangles was a genuine CyberStrip. He tossed the others into the fireplace as he set up the spyware Yamuraiha, their colleague and a talented programmer, had assembled for them. The internet in Alma Torran was pretty patchy and it was common knowledge that Kou surveilled every bit of cyber activity in the country, but this should help shield them from prying eyes. 

When the setup was complete, he clicked into the hard drive and was faced with an extensive collection of information, ranging from what appeared to be budget reports taken from the Kou National Treasury to maps of mining sites. At the very top was a word document, a main summary tying all the bits of information together, and when Sinbad opened it he found it was 40 pages long. 

He whistled, “This is a lot. We’re going to need all night to get through it.” 

“That’s fine,” Ja’far said, “We have all night.” And he held up one of the sheets of paper, an email written by a Sheila Kamali from the HR Department of Haku Energy, informing all employees of a Science Conference happening on Friday, July 3rd. 

Tomorrow. 

It appeared innocuous and most would’ve discarded it, but the two of them had been in this business long enough to know a meeting time when they see one. 

“They did say they were going to meet with us again soon,” Sinbad said, “I guess this means Haku Energy is connected." 

"As we've suspected for _years_ ," Ja'far emphasized with a sigh. He handed the email to Sinbad, who skimmed it quickly. 

"1pm at Hotel Ansari," he read.

"You know where that is?" 

"Yeah, it's like an hour west." 

"Which means we'll have time to sleep in," Ja'far said and came a bit closer so that he could see the laptop screen, "What do you have?" 

“The main report.” 

Ja'far sighed again, his eyes on the clock. It was 10pm. "Well, let's get to it then," he said. 

Sinbad nodded, and his eyes started skimming the page quickly. 

_"Beyond the Ember Mountains lies a plot of land, 40 square meters large, that cannot be captured on satellite..."_

So began the report and as the night went on Sinbad found it hard to control the adrenaline rushing in his veins, as the startling information and all its implications roused that old insatiable explorer's instinct that had plagued him since he was a young boy. By the time he'd finished reading, the sun was almost rising. 

"What are you thinking, Sinbad?" Ja'far asked. It was not yet dawn, but the little light there was covered their room in planes of pale blue and yellow. 

Sinbad shook his head, his long violet hair twisting on the sheets. "I'm thinking," he said, a bit hoarsely, "that Ren Gyokuen has a lot to answer for." 

 

**

 

Meanwhile, in the middle of a tent in another country, a young boy read the same report. Another figure, slightly taller than him, sat across from him. 

"So what d'ya think?" 

"This is... troubling," the young boy said, "Very, very troubling. I had a feeling that Gyokuen would try something like this, but to actually see it in action is..." He made a face. 

The other figure grunted. "She's a bitch. En should've killed her when he had the chance." 

"You give her too little credit. She's more powerful than you think," said a deep, male voice. Sometime while the two boys had been immersed in conversation, a man had entered the tent, and now he sat in the corner, calmly smoking his pipe. 

The boy sat up and quickly bowed, "Master Yunan." 

"No need for that, Aladdin," the man said, smiling slightly, "Now get some sleep, we're leaving at first light. You too, Kouha." 

The other boy groaned, "Do we have to leave so early?" 

"Time is of the essence," Yunan said, prompting the boy to groan again. He'd heard that phrase many, many times in the past few days. "Your brother has to hear Aladdin's story, the sooner the better." 

As the two boys got ready for bed, Kouha tugged at Aladdin's braid. 

"What is it?" 

"I can't sleep," Kouha said stubbornly, "Tell me a story." 

Aladdin yawned and rubbed at his eyes, "What story?" 

"The one you first told me," Kouha said, his pink eyes gleaming, "The one about Magi." 

Blinking, Aladdin shuffled around trying to get comfortable under the covers, "Well," he said softly, "Master Yunan was the first one..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tir and Aban are actually months of the Zoroastrian Calendar and they also correlate to astrological signs; Tir to Cancer and Aban to Scorpio (because Judal just screams Scorpio lol). 
> 
> Also CyberStrips are actually a real thing haha, but in RL they're called dataSTICKIES. Search them up, they're pretty cool. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and please leave a comment if you can to let me know what you think!


	3. The Boy Who Knew (perhaps too much)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinbad and Ja'far find themselves bewildered after reading the report and have to engage in a bit of playacting. Aban later takes Sinbad to meet some important people. Bit by bit, the contents of the report are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote SEVEN DRAFTS of this chapter. SEVEN?! I didn't even know I could write that much lol. But anyway, that’s why writing this chapter took so long. Sorry for the wait! As a plus though, this chapter’s more than twice as long as the others before. Hope you enjoy! I advise rereading the previous chapters to refresh your memory otherwise you might be a bit lost.

" _Today, people refer to dates using the notation A.C. or 'After Creation', a term that was coined by the Reim Empire at the beginning of its conception in 220 A.C, and which later spread throughout the rest of the world during the peak of its reign from 469 A.C. to 682 A.C. The Empire believed in the monotheist religion of the Divinity, which states that the omniscient God, David, created our world and that humans were made in his image. However, archaeologists have found discrepancies between the dates given by the Book of the Divinity and between the evidence found in ancient ruins spanning across several countries. Carbon dating at sites such as the Dantalion Temple in Alma Torran, suggest that the creation of those sites would have to predate the creation of the World, if one is to go by the Book's dates_." 

—Excerpt from  **The Conflict Between Science and Religion**  written by Magnostadt Scholar, Myers Dennison, published in 852 A.C. 

 

***

 

"Mama?" he called, limping through the doorway. His hand clutched the doorframe, the hard stone somewhat reassuring. 

His mother was kneeling towards a small table, which they usually kept next to the bed, but that now had been moved to the other side of the room, shoved against the wall. Sinbad caught a glimpse of her hands, clasped together in prayer, before she turned to him in surprise. 

"Sinbad! I was—" Her words petered out as she looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the growing bruise on his left leg and the scratches on his arms, "Oh dear saints above! What happened to you?" 

"They were bullying Nasir again," was all he said, and his mother closed his eyes in resignation momentarily before getting up and going to their tiny kitchen, where they kept the few medical supplies they had. 

"Oh Sinbad," she sighed, settling down a pack of ice, disinfectant, and a couple of bandages, "What did I tell you about fighting?" 

"I couldn't just let them do it," he said, sitting down and wincing as she pressed the ice to his bruise, "They were really hurting him Mama." 

She smiled a small smile that made him feel a bit better, "I believe you, Sinbad. It was good of you to want to help Nasir. Those boys need a stern talking to, I know, but—"

"— but it's not good to fight with them because they're from powerful families and they can put father out of work," Sinbad said, his eyes looking to the floor instead of to her face, "I know Mama." 

Her gentle hands cupped his cheeks and then smoothed over his hair, "I know you know," she said softly, "My kind, brave boy." 

Cheeks warm, Sinbad tried to change the subject, "What were you doing just now, Mama?" 

"Hm? Oh, I was praying." 

Sinbad looked toward the table again, but only saw a scroll, which he couldn't read, and a plate, upon which lied a bundle of wheat. "To who?" 

"Our patron saint." She laughed at the confused look on his face. "Don't you remember what I taught you?" 

His forehead wrinkled in thought. "God has his messengers," he said, slowly, "the birds in the sky, the angels, and the djinn." There was a pause, as he looked at her unsurely and then, when a flash of inspiration hit, he scrambled to add, "And he has the Magi, his three helpers —" 

"— Four not three," his mother said firmly, now applying disinfectant to his scratches, "And they're not his helpers, they're his advisors." 

 _What's the difference?_ He wanted to ask, but instead he said, "At school they teach us there are only three Magi." 

"That's a distinction between the teachings of the Reim Church and ours. Didn't they also teach you that God's name, too blessed to pass our lips may he forgive and allow us, is David, instead of Ill Illah? It's like that.  _Our_  stories have always said that there are four Magi." 

"Oh," he said, "but which one of them is our patron saint?" 

She took a second to reply, winding a bandage around a particularly nasty scratch on his upper arm, and meanwhile, he admired her side profile. Mama, he thought, was prettier than the painted women in the Church. 

Then she answered, "The Magus of the Center, who was also Torranian and who blessed our land as the capital, as Solomon's birthplace. On the first day of harvest, we are to offer some of our crops to the Magus in return for good health and fortune." Job done, she gave the bandages a quick examination and moved him to the cushions, making sure to keep the ice on his bruise. 

Once settled, he asked, "What about the other Magi? Where were they from?" 

"Well the countries weren’t always in the same place, but the Magus of the East was from Kou, the Magus of the North from the Northernmost reaches of what is now Reim; and the Magus of the West was from... Sassan, I think," his mother said, plopping herself down next to him. 

"Why is there no Magi of the South?" 

"Because there is no land to the South, just ocean."  

"There's the Dark Continent!" Sinbad protested. 

To which his mother only huffed in amusement and said, "Where there's nothing but an endless chasm of darkness, storms, and restless seas." 

To the left, Sinbad heard a chuckle. He turned to see Aban lounging in the corner, his long legs stretching along the floor. 

"Four magi?" he said with a disbelieving smirk, one eyebrow artistically raised, "Like we really need another one." He twirled a piece of thread around his fingers. "You were a cute kid, Sinbad. Bit of a self-righteous brat though." 

Sinbad blinked and suddenly, he was an adult again. "What are you doing here Aban?" Then he shook his head, "No wait that's not what I want to ask—" 

"—Hope not, because it's a boring ass question—" 

"—Isn't that what Gyokuen's trying to do?" he blurted out, "Make monsters like djinn? Super-humans like Magi?" 

In answer, Aban merely grinned, "Yeah I know, what a bitch, right?" 

Sinbad could only gape at him. His mother, his childhood home, all of it had dissipated, and the two of them were placed in a darkness with, strangely, a full moon up above that was their only illumination. In its light, Aban's eyes revealed nothing besides the casual indifference that seemed to be his norm. 

Frustrated, Sinbad slammed his fist to the ground, blood roaring in his ears, anger clutching at his chest, "Are you telling me," he growled, voice rising as he spoke, "that millions of people might've died, just because Ren Gyokuen wanted to play God?" 

The last part of his sentence cracked out like a whip, yet Aban didn't wince. He merely looked at him, eyes hooded in darkness, a grin growing on his face. 

"That makes you angry, huh?” he said. With the slyness of a cat, he slinked closer on his hands and knees. “That’s good, you should be angry—no go on,” he said, when Sinbad’s frown faltered slightly, uncertain in Aban’s growing proximity, "be angry, even more angry… Yeah, that's right,” he was now kneeling right in front of him, kohl-lined red eyes staring up into his, "that's the look you should have on your face when you kill her.” A cool hand came up and skimmed Sinbad’s cheek and then down his arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. “When you kill  _everyone_  who hurt your people,” he added breathlessly, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. 

It was a beautiful expression, if Sinbad was to be honest, and he was painfully aware of the heat stirring in his groin. But he was also clueless as to the direction of this conversation and he could only look in confusion as Aban, with a smile on his face, reached out with both hands and smoothed out Sinbad's furrowed brow. His soft touch made Sinbad's chest tighten with an emotion he couldn't identify. Feeling somewhat out of breath, Sinbad grabbed both of Aban’s hands. “Aban,” he said, voice hoarse, “What are you doing?” 

The boy continued as if he hadn’t heard, "Don't hesitate Sinbad," he warned, voice deep and low, "When you have her in front of you, gut her with your knife and claw her heart out." 

“What did she do to you?” Sinbad asked. 

He looked at him, and the boy—undoubtedly too young to have such emptiness in his eyes—said in a dull voice: 

"She stole everything from me.” 

It shouldn’t have surprised him to know that Gyokuen had hurt Aban too, but it did. Illogically, he started looking for wounds on him then and there, eyes roaming up and down alabaster skin, which shone in the moonlight. There was nothing, but that only worried him more; what inner wounds then, could’ve brought Aban's pain? 

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely, moving to wipe the unshed tears from his eyes, but Aban jerked away before he could. He made a strange sound, like a snort, and then he was suddenly shaking with laughter. Sinbad was startled; there was a crazed, desperate hint to the sound that he didn't like. Gently holding him by the shoulders, he pulled Aban to his side. The boy resisted at first, but then followed, still laughing, the sound echoing in the darkness. Eventually he quieted down. 

"Haha..." Aban breathed out, "You're a good guy Sinbad. Really, you are. Man, this is funny..." His head slid further down Sinbad's shoulder. With him this close, even his softest exhalations filled Sinbad’s ears. "We'll kill her together,” he murmured. It took a moment for Sinbad to realize he was still talking about Gyokuen. 

 “Alright,” he said agreeably. He was mostly focused on getting the boy to calm down and maybe even sleep. The laughing fit he'd had revealed his exhaustion, emphasized the dark circles under his eyes and sallow skin. Sinbad shifted to make him more comfortable. “Uh—though, we’ll have to be careful about it. You can’t just kill a Prime Minister out in the open, that might bring about more political trouble—"

“— _You_ can,” Aban said, shifting slightly. His hair tickled Sinbad’s neck. Despite himself Sinbad felt his fingers reach up to curl into the locks. They were as soft as they looked. “If it’s you, they’ll turn a blind eye.” 

Then he said nothing, and the two of them sat in silence. Sinbad opened his mouth to ask what he'd meant by that, but then closed it; he had a feeling Aban was nearing the realm of sleep and didn't want to drag him away from it. Instead he began to ramble a bit, voice soft and, he hoped, comforting, "I forgot all of that," he said, "Our religion. I never really practiced it, although my mother did. She came from one of the desert tribes but left them to start a family with my father. She knew all the celebratory songs for the festivals... she used to sing them all the time." He looked down at his lap. "I don't remember any of them now."

"—ts'not like it's useful," said Aban with a scoff. He was looking down but then, with a sluggish turn of his head, caught Sinbad's gaze, and continued, voice slightly softer, "And trying to remember it makes you think of your parents, right? So you didn't think about it." 

Here it was again. That glimpse of knowledge he shouldn't have. "How do you—" 

Suddenly, thunder-like rumbling began shaking the floor under them. The moon disappeared, taking its light with it, and the pitch darkness broke as black glass walls fractured around them, letting in bursts of light. At which point, a pinpointed pressure punctured the back of Sinbad's head like a needle through his brain. As he groaned in pain, Aban sat up in concern. 

"Shit! Are you ok? Hold on—OH FUCK OFF!" He said, the last part spat at the light, "How the fuck did they even find us," he muttered next to Sinbad's ear. 

Sinbad felt the boy grab him by the shoulders and then— 

 

***

 

_"Beyond the Ember Mountains lies a plot of land, 40 square meters large, that cannot be captured on satellite. When attempted, only indistinct images can be seen. Even phone-cameras, when used to take pictures of the landscape, cannot produce a clear image. Nevertheless, eyewitness accounts and continued surveillance confirm the existence of this area. They also confirm the presence of mining activity, as well as the existence of several facilities on-site that seem to be laboratories. Paperwork reveals only that this site is being used by Arba Research Facilities, an organization focusing on alternative forms of energy, first established by Ren Gyokuen in 872 A.C. The institute is being funded heavily by Haku Energy, as well as several educational institutes, including the Magnostadt University."_

_"Tracing the funds through Haku Energy lead us to the Kou National Treasury. The Annual Budget in the previous year, 885 A.C. (see Figure 1.1), shows that Kou allocated 500 million yuan to Haku Energy. After a thorough investigation of Haku Energy's expenses report, we have concluded that while 300 million of this could be accounted for funding the operations of the company, the other 200 million could not. It is most likely that these remaining funds are funneled towards Arba Research Facilities."_

_"We have attempted to obtain blueprints and the inventory list of the laboratories. Although we managed to find official copies of both, we suspect that they have been falsified. However, we intercepted the trucks, which transport supplies to the facilities once every two weeks and investigated their contents as well as the company's records (see Folder 3 for photographs and Figure 1.3 - a table listing the items found). As illustrated, the trucks contained standard drilling equipment as well as the components necessary for uranium processing and constructing nuclear fission bombs."_

_"Thus, we suspect that Arba Research Facilities is a front for Ren Gyokuen to mine uranium ore, and harness nuclear energy to create nuclear weapons."_

_"On that note, there is another theory we wish to put forward: that Ren Gyokuen is conducting human experimentation, using nuclear energy. Our reasons for believing such are laid out below."_

\- Excerpt #1 of a report written by Anonymous, dated June 14, 886 A.C. 

 

***

 

When Sinbad woke up, his bleary eyes saw the clock read 10:12 am. He was uncomfortably warm; sunlight fell on his sheets in large blocks, branding him with heat. Somehow, he had miraculously refrained from sleeping until noon. 

Ja'far was still sleeping, he noted with slight amusement, looking at the bushy white hair peeking out from under the covers. He stayed in bed for a few minutes more— he had the strange feeling that he'd forgotten something important, and he tried digging into the murky recesses of his groggy mind, but he couldn't think of anything. Finally, he reached out to grab the laptop from the bedside table. 

 

**_Yamuraiha_ **

**Subject: _Can you check this out?_**

**_8:22 A.M_ **

_I'll be there as soon as I can, I just bought tickets for tomorrow morning! Sharrkan and Masrur will be coming with me, everyone else is staying behind, but remember you can use the messaging app contact all of us! In the meantime, I'll see what I can dig up about this and Balbadd. I remember the rumors circling around on the web about that rebellion. It'd be amazing if that was connected to this!! Imagine the scientific breakthroughs!! Well I mean, it'd also be terrifying but imagine!! Stay safe boss!! Please don't get tangled up into something you can't handle!!!_

_Yamu_

 

**_Shambal_ **

**Subject: _Our old friend_**

**_9:17 A.M._ **

_Hello Sinbad,_

_This is Toto. Master Shambal has gone out to the casinos but he said to tell you that the last time he heard from your friend he was in Qishan heading further east. That was three days ago._

_Best,_

_Toto_

 

**_Hinahoho_ **

**Subject: _None_**

**_9:43 A.M._ **

_He hasn't gotten any better since you last saw him. The doctors say it's time. They give him three months at the most. I tried reading him the thing you sent to me, but he can barely sit up, let alone focus on listening to my voice. You should be here. I'm sure he misses you._

 

**_Muu Alexius_ **

**Subject: _Council Protocols_**

**_10:06 A.M._ **

_Sinbad,_

_I've just sent over our intel to your team and attached the protocols to this email. I'm going to assume that it's better for all of us if I don't know exactly what you need it for but... I really hope you know what you're doing man._

_Muu_

_attached: ipc_rules_and_regulations.doc_

 

Each email elicited a different reaction from him: Yamu's made him grin, with Shambal (or Toto really) he merely chuckled and sighed, Hinahoho's somber report elicited a frown, and finally, with Muu's a simple, wry smile appeared on his face. From there, he moved on to the attached document Muu had sent him, making notes to himself, and when he next looked up from his computer, he saw that Ja'far was starting to stir.

"Good morning," he greeted. 

Ja'far groaned, shuffling out of bed. "What time is it?" 

"Almost eleven." He watched Ja'far get out of bed but didn't follow suit, deigning instead to stay in bed for a little longer and got out the report Tir and Aban had given them last night. He wanted to reread it while he still could. His mind was still whirling from what he'd read; some of the details had been so outlandish, he could've imagined them due to lack of sleep. 

But no. There it laid, the same words, out there in fine black print. 

"Sinbad?" 

"Huh?" he looked up, "Sorry, what did you say?" 

Ja'far regarded him with a look of exasperation, "I said, 'It takes an hour to get to the hotel, right?'"

He nodded. "Yeah, we can leave at 12." 

Ja'far made a noise of acknowledgement and started looking through their luggage, arranging his outfit for the day. "What are you doing right now?" he asked. 

"Rereading the report... but Muu sent me the protocols earlier. I read over them just before you woke up and I think I figured out how we can do this.” 

“Good," Ja'far said. He was choosing between two shirts that seemed, to Sinbad, completely identical. "Is Yamuraiha coming?” 

“She got a train ticket for tomorrow morning,” he said, “And she’s bringing Masrur and Sharrkan.” 

“Good.” Ja’far said again, this time more firmly, “Good, she’ll know what to do with—” he waved his arm around vaguely, “—all this.”

Sinbad's lips twitched into a small smile. “All this.” 

Ja'far returned the smile and the two of them returned to their tasks. After a while, he asked unexpectedly: 

“How are you feeling?” 

Sinbad stopped reading. “What do you mean?” 

“What happened at Parthevia… hurt you Sinbad,” Ja'far said, a pensive expression on his face, “I was there, I saw it. And now, after so many years, we’re close to knowing how it happened. So, answer me honestly... how are you feeling?” 

It was strange, to talk of such sobering subjects at this time of morning in this room, where the sunlight brightened the sandy walls around them into a warm gold tone. “I don’t know,” Sinbad said quietly, “We've always suspected that Kou was behind the blast in Parthevia, but we didn't know  _how._ Well now we have an idea how and it's something way beyond either of us. And not even the how but the  _why_ — _that_ we've always thought was due to Kou wanting to use us as an example to send a message to Reim about the state of their nuclear weaponry, but now it seems that Gyokuen's aiming for something else, God only knows." 

"It might not be true." 

“No, I think it is. It just... makes more sense." Sinbad drummed his fingers down his thigh. “I’ve had this feeling, ever since I woke up after the Disaster that something strange had taken ahold of the world.” 

“You think this is it?” 

“I think,” he said, “that weirder things have happened.” 

Staring up at the ceiling, Ja'far sighed, "Well we'll just have to take things one step at a time. First, the hotel." 

Sinbad nodded, slamming his computer shut. "First, the hotel. Then we confront Tir and Aban on what their plans on from here. I imagine that this lunch today is a chance for us to check out Haku Energy and Arba Research Institutes. There are definitely going to be higher ups lurking around, I bet they have some sort of undercover plan in their heads—" 

"—mingle with the executives, get a way into the laboratories, find out what exactly they're doing, how and why." 

"Exactly. We'll make plans based on what we find out today. Thought I do want to visit that orphanage mentioned in the report, as well as Balbadd.” 

“Balbadd is a two-day trip from here on train.” Ja’far frowned. “You’ll have to fly there.” 

“It’s actually one and a half,” Sinbad said. He got up to stretch. “Which isn’t that bad, considering. And I’d rather take the train, it’s less conspicuous than planes.” 

Ja’far merely hummed and turned away. “We’ll continue talking about this later,” he said, “Get ready, we have to leave soon.” 

By noon, it was getting hot in their room. Sinbad swore as he lit up a fire and felt the additional heat—with a toss, he threw the CyberStrip in and watched it melt away in the ashes. 

 

***

 

The Hotel Ansari was a large spiraling affair of silver metal and green glass, which shone in the sun. It was surrounded by an oasis, lush greenery regularly sprayed by water sprinklers. The hotel was fairly grand for Alma Torran, which came as no surprise considering it was in the same neighborhood as the Kou Embassy, one of the few well-maintained parts of the city. Tourists and expats, mostly from Kou it seemed, were happily enjoying the shopping mall down the street. Sinbad parked their rental car a few blocks away and the two of them looked around discretely for any sign of their rebel acquaintances. They walked, wondering what to do, when a hand tapped them each on the shoulder. 

"There you are," Tir said, pink eyes peering at them from behind her face covers, “Did you read the file?” 

"It's been read and burned," Ja'far said dryly. 

Sinbad opened his mouth to say something, but Tir held up a hand. "I'm sure you have many questions," she said, "but we'll have to wait until later. First let me explain what we have planned now.” 

She led them away from the street, into the oasis. Amidst the palm trees was a small shed, painted blue. 

“The staff keeps their tools here, but I’ve gotten assurance that they won’t be coming in here for the next three hours.” 

Inside, there were indeed gardening tools. But what caught Sinbad’s eye were the monitors that were set up on a desk, and the bespectacled man sitting in front of them. Said man stood up almost instantly, startled by their entrance. 

“P—p—p—p—” he stuttered, however Sinbad never got to hear what he meant to say, for Tir promptly interjected:  

“This is my assistant, he’ll be helping out with surveillance. Now sit down, we have a lot to get through.”   

“Since you’ve read the report you should have a good idea of our current situation,” Tir said, “What our faction badly needs is concrete evidence about what Ren Gyokuen is doing in Arba Research Facilities. This hotel is holding a science conference for Haku Energy on the 15th floor. It’s celebrating the new advancements the company has made and the attendees include people from Arba. Now I know that you both came here pretending to be Parthevians interested in developing Lake Bashur—don't ask me how I know I just do—so! You," she turned, addressing Ja'far, “will be a Parthevian scientist, Professor Shahbaz Khan, an up-and-coming expert on creating sustainable biofuels. You have come here as an envoy from Sindria, hoping to start up a partnership that will benefit both Alma Torran and the rebuilt Parthevia.”

“What partnership? And how is this related to Lake Bashur?" Ja'far asked, as skeptic look on his face. 

The young girl’s eyes lit up. Although they couldn’t see her mouth, due to the face covers, Sinbad had a strong feeling she was smiling rather proudly. 

“The mistress herself came up with this remarkable plan!” The assistant declared, “So listen carefully!” 

 

 ***

 

Twenty minutes later, Sinbad tried not to let his own bewilderment show up on his face as he explained to a pretty, young man, why exactly they were there in the Conference.  

The young man however, lucky him, had no such restraints, and the bewilderment showed clearly upon his own face. “You’re going to introduce Sindrian Mangroves into the Lake Bashur?” 

“Yes,” Sinbad said smoothly, “As you know the Lake Bashur has been a great obstacle to the Torranian Government. They wish to develop it and yet, the lake’s high levels of salinity and other organic substances defy their every effort. However, our mangroves thrive in the saltwater and work as a natural filtration system. They have the potential to be a remarkable catalyst for the lake’s ecosystem!” 

How much of this was even scientifically viable, Sinbad had no idea. Yes, Sindria’s mangroves did do very well in saltwater, but the climate was much drier here than it was there, and how much could Tir know about mangroves anyway? Not being Sindrian, she’d probably never seen a mangrove in her life! Nonetheless, it was his job to sell this proposition, and sell it he shall. 

“And in return for your mangroves, the Torranian Government will…?” 

“Allow my colleague to experiment on the unique strains of algae contained within the lake!” With a flourish of his hands, Sinbad gestured to Ja’far who was placing some dumplings onto his plate. Using only his eyes, he tried to communicate:  _Take over for me please!_

A slight derisive raise of his eyebrows was the only sign that Ja’far had understood and was also looking down on him, very much so. 

But he did take over. “Yes, just last year the Magnostadt University did a study and found that the lake’s algae could be made into very efficient biofuels,” Ja’far said, “If I succeed in my research, then it will be a very valuable energy resource for both of our countries.” 

“I see,” the young man mused, “I think I do remember the study you’re talking about.” 

“Ah yes that’s right Shahbaz!” Sinbad exclaimed, "Titus here is a student of the Magnostadt University.” 

“Is that so?” Ja’far said, politely interested, "What are you studying?” 

“Biochemistry.” 

“Do you wish to work for Haku Energy in the future?” 

Titus tilted his head slightly. “Possibly. I would certainly welcome the experience. But this trip has more of an educational purpose than a career one. Our professor took us here to oversee the progress of some of the university’s research projects.” Then he added, in a somewhat different tone of voice, “And, to be honest, I think my... mother would want me to return home after I graduated.” 

“Oh? And where is home?” 

“Reim,” he said, “I grew up in the capital, Remano.” 

“It’s a beautiful city,” Sinbad said sincerely. 

With a newly enthused tone, the boy asked, “Have you been there before, Mr. Fahlavi?” 

“Please, call me Bahram,” said Sinbad, “And yes I have. I used to work there.” 

“As a real estate developer?” 

“There are many great properties in Remano. I was working there happily before Shahbaz came and told me of his plans for Lake Bashur. After he’s done tinkering with it, I hope to propose a commercial waterfront revitalization project! It’d be fantastic for this city.” 

“I see,” said Titus, “That does sound wonderful—" 

“—Who is this you’re talking to, Titus?” interjected a deep, rough voice, and Sinbad looked up to see none other than Matal Mogamett, the Headmaster of Magnostadt University. His heartbeat quickened as he recognized the elderly face, but he forced himself to calm down. He'd put on a good deal of makeup to alter his appearance. The man shouldn't be able to recognize him.

“Headmaster Mogamett! This is Bahram Fahlavi and Shahbaz Khan,” Titus said, “They’re here with a very interesting proposition.” And then he continued to explain, repeating what they had told him, and for that Sinbad was incredibly grateful; he didn’t think he could talk about mangroves again so soon. 

“Oh, that  _is_  interesting,” said Mogamett, stroking his beard, "Yes I remember that study. The head researcher wanted to continue the project but ran out of funding. Sindrian Mangroves in the Lake Bashur, how fascinating." 

As if to agree, music began playing, a classical Kou piece, and the entrance doors were pulled open. Sinbad tried to see who’d come in, but a crowd had gathered, obscuring his view. 

“And the main players have arrived," said Mogamett, “Come Titus, I wish to introduce you all to them before the conference starts.” 

 _"Follow him!”_ Tir’s voice hissed through the earpiece. Sinbad winced and saw Ja’far do the same; they’d almost forgotten she was there. 

"We'll come with you!" Ja'far said, getting up from his chair, "We should introduce ourselves as well.” 

They made their way to the front of the room. Following Mogamett had its perks as the crowd parted easily before his grand stature and imposing presence.

" _Do you see the woman near the stage? Orange hair?"_

"Yeah," Sinbad said. She was very easy to spot. Her petite stature and elfin features reminded him of his colleague, Pisti, but there was a pinched look to her face that Pisti certainly didn't have. A gaggle of people surrounded her, but one person in particular caught his eye—a boy with a burn scar on his face. His clothes were of Kou fashion, high-quality too. There was something about his features that struck Sinbad as familiar. Black hair, striking blue eyes... 

" _That's Falan. She's one of the chief researchers at Arba Research Facilities. And the boy next to her is Ren Hakuryuu."_

Ah! That's right. He'd seen those same features on his sister, Ren Hakuei, as well as on his late brother, Ren Hakuyuu. 

"Son of Ren Gyokuen?" Ja'far asked, taken aback. 

" _Her only son by blood, yes. Fourth son of the Ren Family overall. His father was Ren Hakutoku, the Founder and CEO of Haku Energy. He stands to inherit the company when he turns 18 in two years time."_

Without warning, Sinbad suddenly found himself locking gazes with Ren Hakuryuu. He stilled so as to not give himself away, and calmly nodded in acknowledgement. Surprisingly, the boy nodded back somberly.

_"Well, what are you waiting for? Go and talk to them!"_

Easier said than done. There was already a line of people, all wishing to speak to the company heir. If they were to capture Falan's attention, they would need to stand out from the crowd somehow. 

They were in the middle of trying to figure out how, when Sinbad saw that Falan had walked away from the heir, directly to Mogamett. 

“Headmaster Mogamett!” the woman greeted warmly, “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Researcher Falan,” Mogamett said, "May I introduce you to some of the university's brightest students.” 

“A pleasure,” Falan said, shaking each of the students’ hands. When she reached Sinbad, she stopped. “And who is this?” she asked, “Please do excuse me, but you seem rather  _old_  for a student.” 

 _Bam._ It was as if a weight had struck him on the head. If there had been no audience, Sinbad would’ve keeled over right then and there. He instantly looked to Ja’far. His face showed nothing—only the slight tightness around his eyes and mouth betrayed him. No doubt he was laughing inside in glee. 

 _I’m only 29!_ He cleared his throat. This was no time for that. "Bahram Fahlavi,” he said, bowing, “and this is my colleague Shahbaz Khan, at your service.” 

“Oh you!” Falan clapped her hands together, “I remember! Yes, the Lake Bashur proposal.” 

Ja’far came forward and bowed deeply. “We are honored that you remember our proposal.” 

“It was so inventive that I couldn’t help but remember it!” 

“Does that mean you’ll consider accepting our proposal?” 

“Tell you what," she said, "You can tell me more about it after this first group of presentations, and we'll try to figure something out." 

And with that, more music started playing and a man came up on the stage. “Everyone, thank you very much for coming here today. Please sit down so that we can begin.” 

“That was easier than I thought it’d be,” Sinbad murmured to Ja’far, “Much too easy.” 

“Do you think they know?” Ja’far whispered. 

 _“There’s no way! We’ve taken every precaution,”_ said Tir. 

“Perhaps their suspicions were raised due to us being from Sindria?”

“But Sindria is a large enough trading company by this point that they would’ve had to deal with us sometime before regardless.” 

They were left to ponder while the presentations began. Not an academic by nature, Sinbad’s mind wandered. He surveyed those in attendance, committing their face and name, if he knew them, to memory. So focused was he that he almost jumped in his seat when, an hour and four presentations later, he heard through his earpiece, _"Hah?! They’re what?”_

It was unmistakably Aban, though he sounded unusually agitated. 

 _"It's all part of the plan, we talked about it last night!”_  Tir said, voice panicked, _"Wait Aban!”_

Sinbad heard the sound of fabric shuffling and then Aban’s voice came through the earpiece, _“Oi, stupid king,”_ he said, _“You need to get out of there right now.”_

"That's... not possible,” Sinbad mumbled, "It'd catch too much attention if I just got up and left during a presentation." 

"There's a break in fifteen minutes," Ja'far said, "We can get out then." 

_“Nah Freckles, you stay there. Someone needs to talk to that orange crone.”_

Ja’far looked at Sinbad with a furrowed brow. Sinbad gave to him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 

 

***

 

Fifteen minutes later, the room was alight again and people were moving out of their chairs. Sinbad patted Ja'far's shoulder and headed out. 

Mogamett was standing up as well and they walked together towards the entrance. "Are you heading to the washroom as well?" he asked. 

Sinbad smiled. "Afraid not. Work calls." 

"You're leaving already?" 

"Unfortunately. I thought I’d accompany Shahbaz just to see what the conference was like, but now I have to go run some errands." 

"I see," said Mogamett. The headmaster bowed his head and held out his hand. "“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you.” 

"Likewise," Sinbad said, bowing in return. He grasped his hand and gave it a firm shake. 

He exited the hotel, wondering what that was about and whether he was thinking too much. Mogamett and Falan clearly had a good relationship. The report had mentioned that Magnostadt University was one of the sponsors of Arba Research Facilities. Was it then possible that Mogamett knew what Ren Gyokuen was doing and was in on it as well? But what did Mogamett stand to gain from it? 

Tir and Aban were standing next to a crowd of people outside the shopping mall he'd saw earlier. Sinbad joined them. He noticed with amusement that Aban seemed to be wearing the exact same clothes as yesterday. 

"Why did I have to leave so soon?" he asked. 

"Because you're too noticeable," Aban scoffed. There was a jumpy feeling to him, his face scrunched up as if he'd eaten something distasteful. "And anyway, you have to come with me."  

"To where?" 

"To meet the rest of the faction," said Tir, “or at least, one of our leaders.”

"I'd rather not leave Shahbaz here." 

"An understandable concern,” Tir said primly, “however we are limited on time. Have you heard? Ren Gyokuen will be coming to Baal in two weeks, the 16th to be exact, as part of her political campaign. Today’s conference is one of the only opportunities we have until then to gain an authorized visit to Arba Research Facilities. Today is also one of the few, if not the only day you are guaranteed to meet the others in our faction, so it is imperative that you go in order for us to hammer out our alliance and the details that go with it. It is simply not possible to wait until after the conference.” 

“...Very well," Sinbad acceded, “But I will see you and Shahbaz afterwards?” 

"Of course." 

"Come on!" They heard Aban shout. He was already at the street corner. "We don't have all day!" 

Sinbad sighed and was about to head after him, when Tir said something.

She coughed, “I apologize for his behavior. I know he appears rude and speaks brusquely, but he is a good person, deep down.” 

Sinbad looked at her, surprised. He wondered briefly what had driven a well-spoken and well-mannered girl like her to rebellion. Well, he had his suspicions, but for now he simply patted her on the head and told her, “I know. Even though I’ve only met him recently I do get that feeling about him. And about you,” he added, “Thank you.” 

The girl blushed furiously, frantically nodded a few times, stammered a weak “Of course”, and then hastily scurried off. Sinbad gazed for a moment in her direction, contemplating. 

"Oi!" yelled Aban, "What's taking you so long?" 

"I'll be right there," he yelled back. 

When he got around the corner, he saw Aban sitting on a motorcycle. He had on a pair of riding glasses on and when he saw Sinbad, he tossed him a helmet. 

"Took you long enough," he said. 

Sinbad didn't reply to that and instead asked incredulously, "Is that yours?" 

"Nah it's Freckles’. Pshh—of course it's mine." 

"We're both riding on it?" 

Aban regarded him with raised eyebrows and then sneered. “Yeah, I don’t want to either, but I’m not walking in this heat.” 

“I—I rented a car.” 

“Bike’s better.” 

Sinbad sighed. "Alright," he said and started putting on the helmet. "You know, you don't seem like the type to care about safety.” 

The boy shrugged, “It’s there for the old hag. Without it she gets too scared to ride. Plus, it helps cover her face.” 

"Cover her face? Are there people looking for her?" 

“There are people looking for all of us, stupid king,” Aban said flatly, "Ren Gyokuen knows our faction exists. She has people on the lookout all the time, which is fucking annoying, but meh she's a bitch like that." 

 _"Yeah I know, what a bitch, right?"_ The words echoed in his head. 

Sinbad blinked. What was that? 

"Right," he said dumbly, "Is that why you were so insistent on me leaving the conference?" 

"You could say that..." the boy started the engine. “Come on, get on. We’re going to go pretty fast, so _maybe_ you should hold onto me." The last part was said in a cheeky fashion and Sinbad felt himself flush. Man, would his team in Sindria get a kick out of his. The lady-killer, brought down by a brat too pretty for his own good. 

But then again, two could play at this game, he thought. Sitting down, he reached over and encircled his hands tightly around Aban's middle. He felt the muscles underneath tense. “This ok?” he asked, also cheekily. 

He couldn’t see the boy's face, but he could swear that there was a slight flush on the back of his ears. 

“Get that stupid grin off your face,” Aban gritted out. 

Sinbad laughed, “You can’t see my face.” 

Aban merely tapped the side mirrors on the motorcycle in response and then, when the older man wouldn't stop chuckling, he abruptly accelerated. 

And they were off.

Sinbad soon saw why Aban preferred the motorcycle—they were driving through the more worn-down neighborhoods, where wide, paved roads were few, and the buildings soon broke up into small, ramshackle dwellings, separated by narrow alleyways that resembled the maze of an ant colony.

When they finally stopped, it was in front of what seemed to be an old dilapidated bookshop. Sinbad got off the motorcycle a tad bit regretfully; he had been getting comfortable there. Although sitting on it together had been a bit of a tight squeeze, the two of them fit together well, and it certainly wasn't unpleasant feeling Aban’s skin against his or smelling the scent of flowers wafting from his hair. Aban really _was_ beautiful, even when narrowing his eyes at the sunlight and muttering insults at every pothole or reckless driver on the street. He chuckled as he remembered the boy threatening a driver that he'd take his precious groceries and throw them at him for target practice, if he didn't move aside _now._ Stepping past the doorframe, he scuffed his shoe across the grainy surface of the stone floor, looking over the rows of books on the old wooden shelves.

“Ugh, I hate this place,” Aban grumbled. He walked to the bookshelf at the very end of the store and knocked the wood loudly, “Open up, Pimples! It’s me!” 

“Prove it!” someone said from behind the bookshelf. 

“Does anyone other than me call you Pimples?” 

There was a small groan and then, just like that, the bookshelf opened like a door, turning on a hinge. 

Aban waved at him, “Come on.” 

Inside was a small room that was overall cleaner than the one at the bookstore's front. Carpets covered the floor and sitting upon them were three people. Sinbad started when he saw who one of them was. 

With his long red hair and spotted face, there was no mistaking Ren Koumei, Ren Gyokuen’s second son by marriage, and Ren Kouen’s younger brother. He’d seen him often at Ren Kouen’s side, acting as his advisor. Rumors spoke of him as a great political strategist, one not to underestimate. 

“Sinbad of Sindria,” said Ren Koumei courteously, bowing his head, “Do please sit down. Thank you for joining us.” 

Sinbad bowed in return. “But of course, Ren Koumei.” Sitting down, he said, “I’m going to be honest; I didn’t expect you here.” 

“Oh?” 

He corrected himself, “Well, I didn’t expect you in Alma Torran.” 

“Neither did I,” said Ren Koumei, “But I won’t be here for long. My only purpose today is to determine the technicalities of this alliance with you.”

“I see,” he said, “About…” 

“About what you can do for us. There’s a reason we wanted your help in particular.” 

Sinbad said nothing, preferring to wait for Koumei to say it himself. 

“You are the so-called 'Trade King’, CEO of Sindria, head of the Seven Seas Trading Alliance, and a member of the IPC," Ren Koumei said, simply. 

“I am.” 

“In order for this to work, you must be able to convince the IPC to fully support Ren Kouen as Prime Minister of Kou, in the event that Ren Gyokuen is suddenly unable to take up the position.” 

“I would’ve thought,” said Sinbad, “that you’d have plenty of support either way, from your own country.” 

“The country’s opinions are split,” Ren Koumei said, the lower half of his face hidden by his black feather fan, “How they are split exactly, I am not at liberty to say.” 

“If this partnership is to go forward, surely we should share everything?” 

“For an _equal_  partnership, you must give as much as you take.” 

Message received, Sinbad gave a small huff of laughter. “Alright then," he said, "First, at least, tell me this... Were either you or Ren Kouen in on the events leading up to the Parthevia Disaster?” 

Ren Koumei's eyes narrowed which, given that his eyes were already narrow in the first place, was truly a difficult feat. “We were not,” he said, “We were just as shocked by the Disaster as you were. Rest assured that we are not allies to Ren Gyokuen and we never will be, for though she is our mother, she wouldn't trust us as far as she could throw us, and we, her.” 

“I see. Thank you for your honesty,” Sinbad said. It was as Ja'far and he had expected. For a few moments he merely sat back on his haunches until finally asking,“…Do you know why I take such interest in the matters of Alma Torran?” When Ren Koumei said nothing, he continued, “I was originally Torranian. In fact, I was born in this city, and grew up in a neighborhood similar to this one, in a house like the one we’re in right now.” 

The two men next to Ren Koumei gaped, the surprise apparent on their face. In comparison, Ren Koumei's face was a stone wall. Sinbad involuntarily sought Aban and found his face impossible to read as well. 

“Then how did you end up in Parthevia?” asked Ren Koumei. 

“As you know, seventeen years ago, Alma Torran was fighting against Kou for the control of natural resources. But Alma Torran’s inadequate leadership ruined us and before long, the military conscription age had been lowered to 13. By that time, my father had already died in battle. My mother, who was determined to not let me follow in his footsteps, tried to leave the country.”

Sinbad paused for a second, wondering how much of his story he should reveal. It had been a long time since he'd last shared his tale and his chest tightened. He uttered his next words with a clenched jaw.

“Unfortunately, we failed. At the border, we were discovered by a group of soldiers and in the process of capturing us, they killed my mother. I served in the military for about a year after, but then escaped on a sailboat to Parthevia when I had the chance.” 

Ren Koumei bowed his head, “I am sorry for your loss.” 

“It’s fine," Sinbad said, " I only said this so that you’ll understand. I left this country seventeen years ago, and only came back once, four years after that, to visit my parents’ graves. So it may seem as if I’d deserted this country… but in reality, I have simply been waiting for the right moment.” 

“To release Kou’s hold on your country?” 

“To release _Ren Gyokuen’s_ hold on the country. And to take out the officials in the Torranian Government who serve her interests before their own people’s.” 

“But you also seek revenge for what happened to Parthevia?” 

“I do," said Sinbad firmly, "But if what you say is true, then it is from Ren Gyokuen and her supporters I need to exact revenge on, not you or your brother.” 

“I see,” said Ren Koumei, “And if we succeed in taking her out of power, what will you do with Alma Torran? Will you become the new leader of this country? Merge Sindria and Alma Torran together?” 

“I don’t see how that would work considering that they’re very much far apart,” he quipped, “But no, I don’t plan on leading Alma Torran. I have my hands full enough with Sindria. No, instead I would like to supervise the rebuilding of the country for the first ten years and then act in an advising role thereafter.” 

Ren Koumei tapped his fan against his chin. “I admit that that sounds reasonable,” he said, “More reasonable than I expected, frankly. You have the reputation of being rather extreme." He was silent for a few seconds and then said, “Very well then, let me explain what is going on in Kou presently."

"The Congress is split, half and half," he said, "The common people love Kouen, but the business and political elite are on Gyokuen’s side. Kouen has most of the military, but Gyokuen has the Church.” He paused again. “And the Church has their own fighters.” 

“And Gyokuen,” said Sinbad, “has her own weapons.” 

Ren Koumei bowed his head, “You’ve read the report.” 

“I admit, I still can’t believe it.” 

“I thought so,” he said, “So I’ve prepared this for you.” 

He motioned to the third man, a muscled man with black hair—probably his bodyguard—who promptly pulled back a carpet to reveal a trapdoor underneath. When he tugged that open, it revealed a flight of stairs. 

“Follow me,” said Koumei, as he stepped underground. 

The flight of stairs was long and Sinbad realized that this must be a laboratory of sorts. The stone walls were cold under his hands, and the fluorescent lights above revealed little. However, he did see a large glowing cylinder to his left, that appeared to have something in it. 

When they reached the bottom, Koumei led him to the glowing cylinder. As they came closer and closer, Sinbad saw that it resembled a human being. 

Finally, they arrived in front of it. 

“That,” said Koumei, “is one of Ren Gyokuen’s experiments. Or at least, the remnants of it.” 

The cylinder was a tank. Floating within the liquid inside were the pieces of a dismembered human being. Their skin had been blackened to soot, as if they’d been cooked over a flame, and oil slick seemed to be coming out of its body. Sinbad’s eyes widened, as he saw one limb that appeared to be a wing. 

“The black winged creature that protestors saw in Balbadd…” he murmured. 

“According to our intel,” Koumei said, his face impassive, “she calls it an artificial Djinn. The first step in her process of making an artificial Magi.” 

 

***

 

_On February 26, 885 A.C., the people of Balbadd City, rebelled against Kou Rule and against their own monarch, Ahbmad Saluja. More than 2 million people marched onto the streets calling for independence; they were led by their third prince, Alibaba Saluja, and the rebel group, the Fog Troupe._

_News stations only broadcasted the march up until Alibaba Saluja and other members of the Fog Troupe, entered the palace. The broadcasts only resumed seven hours later, with the speech of Governor Ren Gyokuen. An excerpt of the transcript is shown below (see File 4.1 for the full video):_

_“Good evening everyone and what a truly wonderful evening it is. I am sure you will all be pleased to hear that the protests have ended peacefully. After a discussion with Prince Alibaba Saluja, I have been inspired to make great changes in this country, changes that the people have asked for. The first and most crucial change being that from now on, Balbadd is no longer a kingdom, but a republic. Prince Ahbmad Saluja has abdicated the throne, the Second Prince Sabhmad Saluja has refused it, and Third Prince Alibaba Saluja has relinquished his right to the throne entirely. Of course, I will be overseeing the construction of this new republic from an advisory position.”_

_It should be noted that in this broadcast, nothing was shown of the streets of Balbadd City or even its people. In addition, any further broadcasts from the area were policed heavily, with permission needed from the Governor. Although the rebels’ popular social media accounts were still active, they were all in support of Gyokuen’s speech and of this new republic._

_We are far from the first ones to find this suspicious, however we are the first ones, we believe, to get ahold of someone who was there at the real events: the man who used to be the Second Prince of Balbadd, Sabhmad Saluja. This is his account (see File 4.2 for the audio recording):_

_“I had made contact with my brother, Alibaba, when I found out that Ahbmad was going to sign away our entire country to Kou, and let him know what was going to happen, so I was not surprised when I saw him and the protestors marching along the streets. I was waiting for him at Ahbmad's side, when the Kou envoy and the representative of the Kou Bank came to us. They told my brother not to worry for preparations had been made for the protestors.”_

_“When Alibaba and the Fog Troupe marched past the Palace gates, they were confronted in the courtyard by what appeared to be a monster—a winged creature, covered with a black and hard shell, who seemed to command gravity. Though Alibaba fought bravely, he and the others were pushed back. Many of them were killed. When they were down on their knees, the Kou Military and Cabinet arrived with the Prime Minister of Kou, Governor Ren Gyokuen. She spoke with Alibaba, just the two of them, and when Alibaba came out, he was despondent. “I have failed, Sahbmad,” he said to me, “I have failed this country and I have failed our father. And I have failed Kassim.” Kassim was an old friend of Alibaba’s, as well as the leader of the Fog Troupe, however I hadn’t seen him at the protests.”_

_"Hours later, we were told that Balbadd was to be a republic now, as per Alibaba’s wishes, and thus we were no longer royalty. They offered us positions in the new government, but I, knowing that we would simply be under Kou’s thumb, escaped with both Ahbmad and Alibaba in the middle of the night. We ran to Qishan and then separated there. That was the last time I saw Alibaba.”_

_Besides Sabhmad Saluja, we have also made contact with two members of the Fog Troupe. Although they were not in the palace courtyard during the attack, they did tell us why Sabhmad Saluja hadn’t seen Kassim during the protests (see file 4.3 for audio recording):_

“ _Kassim disappeared, you see, a few days before the rebellion. Of course, we— we thought that he must’ve been taken or killed. Some said that they’d saw him talking to Marco, the weapons smuggler… What does he look like? Uh… he was tall and had a goatee… oh! He had three dots on his head, all down in a line— yeah I thought that was weird.”_

_This description is remarkably similar to Markkio, a member of Arba Research Facilities (see figure 3.2 for photographs), who was indeed sighted in Balbadd on the day of the rebellion._

_Is it possible then, that these incidents were orchestrated by Arba Research Facilities in order to test their experiments?_

\- Excerpt #2 of a report written by Anonymous, dated June 14, 886 A.C. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it to here, congrats you're amazing! Please let me know what you think in the comments below- this is the first fanfic I've written in years, so I would greatly appreciate any feedback!


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